Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/189

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Of awful agony pass from my breast?
This suffering racking me must be the worst
Of mental pain that man can live and bear!
Another pang would kill me; and to die,
And let her know the depth of my despair—
Better live on in endless agony!

"False! false! O God of heaven! is this so?
And has another kissed that brow so bright,
And held those tiny hands of moulded snow,
And drank from those soft eyes their dewy light!
Peace, tortured soul! why did I dream of her
For years and years before I saw her face?
Why did my fiery soul its proud depths stir
To give to her alone its hallowed place?

"Burn on, fierce fire, in my consuming heart
Till every thought of her—till every dream
And every hope in which she had a part
Have perished in thy fearful, molten stream.
Ashes! ashes! ashes alone are left!
Each feeling and each passion have expired!
The fire of this day's anguish has bereft
My heart of every thing it once desired.

"Tears? no, my tears are at their fountain dried—
It sends no dew to cool my burning eyes;
The only passion that remains is pride,
And that upon my brow in mockery lies.
Now I can taunt her! I can look unmoved
Upon the loveliness a star might wear!
Can mock her with the deathless love thus proved,
While writhing sneers my lip and brow shall bear.

"And life, henceforth, shall be a hollow sound—
The springs which all its arrogance control—
Its emptiness—its nothingness I've found!
No gentle thrill shall ever move my soul!